Me thinking about grapes on a bad day

Grapes are smooth.

Cold.

They stay in plentiful branches

Praying for safety in numbers,

Naïve,

But receiving mass sacrifice.

You should have known better.

Coward.

Selfish.

Because of you everyone gets

Crushed,

Reduced,

Consumed

By the predator.

No, by your demons.

They deserve better than you.

They shouldn't be dragged along by your need to fall,

By your need to bruise,

By your incompetence

You

Even their elders ferment

Malignant

To allow us

Sore

Maximum enjoyment.

They're placid,

Complacent.

Even in their golden age,

A grape is forced to ferment with somebody else's interests in mind.

So you get it now?

You're a waste of space.

You're a self-destructive, unlovable brat.

You're rotten, you know you are

But you can't take it so you decide to ruin the whole batch.

JUST BECAUSE YOU WON'T GET ANYWHERE DOESN'T MEAN OTHERS WON'T!

...

Yet they paint vineyards vibrant pigments of purple, the colour of royalty.

They satiate our hunger for sweetness;

They satiate our hunger.

With breaking of 

Fragile

Skin, my tounge sings in pleasure,

My throat moans with the quenching of thirst 

And my hunger is sated.